vive tu momento
by vivirbonita
Summary: "When you show a man what he wants, he will move heaven and earth to get it." Or: Ernesto wants to leave, but Héctor has other plans. [Switched!AU]


**the following is based on dailymusicalninja's reverse au, which you should totally check out by the way. i wanted to write some one-shots for it, so here we have one of the many ideas i had. this probably might not happen in the actual fic, but it's fun to imagine and write these what-ifs anyway. **

**enjoy!**

* * *

Héctor was usually a calm man, but there were certain things that got him all riled up, to the point where he would boil over like a raging volcano. He tried his best to control his temper most of the time though, often letting his body go still so he could internally calm himself down. In a way, he had much more self-control than Ernesto when he was mad. He knew when to keep his anger in check, whether it be in public or in private. He knew how to hide his bitterness and resentment, keep quiet so no one would know. He knew how to keep calm and to not make a scene by thinking of good things like his early childhood, music, the feeling of success, people cheering him on and all those beautiful women.

Yet this was all thrown aside the night Ernesto began throwing his things into a suitcase, packing them all up with the intentions of leaving. Suddenly, Héctor felt enraged, anger growing within him like a parasite inside its host, eating away at him until it was ready to burst.

"So that's it? You're just going to leave?" he asked as he watched his friend toss his songbook into the suitcase. "After everything we've been through together, after getting _this close _to reaching our dream, you're ready to throw it all away?"

They had been on the road for four months, traveling around the country and performing for the people. In the beginning, he told Ernesto that it was for old time's sake, a way of paying tribute to the days when they were a two-man act. The money they had made from the performances would be sent through mail to the older man's wife and daughter, along with his letters to his _preciosa niña perfecta. _Ernesto had gone along with it since 'music was in his soul', and it was all fine in the beginning. They had fun together, letting the music within them come loose, living their moments. It was just the two of them – Héctor, who sang "Remember Me" as best as he could despite his dry voice, and Ernesto, who wrote the songs and poured all of his passion into his writing, guitar-playing and singing.

Of course, that didn't mean it was all sunshine and mariposas. Ernesto's homesickness didn't take too long to manifester, and he would sometimes bring up how much he wished to go back home to the love of his life and his bebita. Héctor tried waving it off, telling him that he'd go home after they had reached their dream. Besides, it wasn't like he had cut off all contact between the older man and his daughter. They had their letters.

But apparently that wasn't enough for Ernesto, who now held the handles of his suitcases, ready to head out the door. "You need to understand something, Héctor," the older man said softly, wincing at the venom oozing in his friend's voice. "I know that long ago, we had a dream of playing for the world, but… that was _before _I had my family. I'm a father and a husband now, and my family needs me. I'm sure you understand, yes?"

"Oh, I _sure _do," Héctor growled, fists clenched as he took a step forward towards the twenty-five year-old. "You're giving up on our dream and leaving behind everything we've worked so hard for, running off just as things are getting better. You're holding back on everything, just like you've always been doing for the past four years!"

It wasn't fair. Little Elena had the love of not just her father, but her mother and uncles too. Héctor only had Ernesto, and now his friend was ready to just give up on everything and leave him behind. What, was it just not enough for him? Was he no longer satisfied with touring with him, with their time together? Did he no longer care about the dream they had? Did it no longer matter to him? All of these questions just made Héctor's blood boil more with each second.

"I can't do this without your songs, Ernesto!" he screeched, grabbing his friend's suitcase. The walls of the little house they were residing in were thin, to the point where the argument could be heard from a couple of blocks away. He didn't care if anyone heard them though as he was just so tired of Ernesto's nonsense, so _angry _that he wanted his anger to be known. Maybe then, his friend would see that he really needed him now.

Ernesto wasn't going to just stand there and take it though, especially not from someone who was four years younger than him. "I'm going home, Héctor!" he exclaimed, trying to control the volume of his voice as he yanked the suitcase away from his friend. He really didn't want to argue with the twenty-one year-old or upset him, but his family needed him now, especially Elena. It took months away from his daughter for him to realize that she needed someone to guide her as she grew up. For heaven's sake, she was only three years-old. How could he have just left her with her mother like that? And Victoria – even though she was a very bright and strong-willed woman, the musician knew very well that his wife couldn't raise a child and maintain a shoe business all on her own. She needed him just as much as their daughter did, more now than ever.

He knew that now was the time he should take some responsibility, lest his family should suffer because of his mistake. "I understand if you hate me for me this," he continued. "But my mind has been made up, and I won't be changing it."

Héctor's eyes narrowed dangerously. He gritted his teeth, seething with rage, but then he stopped himself. The gears in his head began turning as he thought back to the bottle of formaldehyde he'd bought a while ago, a week prior to when they had started their tour. He had only kept a laced shot glass with him for when the time came when he'd need it, and now… now, Ernesto was giving up. Ernesto was preventing him from seizing _his _moment, from living out his dream – and for what? Just so he could satisfy his own selfish wants and needs.

If Ernesto didn't want to reach out for that dream and grab it tight, then _fine_. Héctor would just have to live his moment by himself – and if that meant throwing away their lifelong friendship so he could take what was necessary, _so be it._

"I could never hate you," Héctor spoke softly, his face relaxing much to Ernesto's surprise. He smiled at his friend, ignoring how it tugged a little too hard at the corners of his lips. "If you have to leave, the least you can do is let me… send you off with a toast." He went over to a drawer with a few shot glasses laid out, pouring tequila into the first one. He took a good long sniff, before setting it down so he could pour tequila into the other glass.

Ernesto was a little surprised at his friend's sudden change in mood, but shrugged it off since he knew that Héctor had his own way of calming himself down. "How could I say no to a toast?" he asked with a smile, taking the shot glass the younger man offered.

Héctor had a toothy grin on his face, his golden tooth shining brightly in the dim light. "To our friendship," he saluted. "If I could, I would move heaven and earth for you, mi amigo. Cheers!"

"Salud!" Ernesto tapped his shot glass against Héctor's, then downed the tequila in a single gulp.

_Look at what you made me do, _Héctor thought as he watched his friend drink.

–

It didn't take too long for the poison to kick in. While they walked down the empty streets at night, Ernesto began stumbling, clutching his stomach in pain.

Héctor tried steadying his friend, taking his guitar case from him, not so different from a street rat snatching a loaf of bread. "_Maldito chorizo_," he muttered. "Never seems to go down well, eh?"

Ernesto took a few more steps, coughing and heaving out blood. Five minutes passed before he finally collapsed in the street, his body becoming as stiff as a stone.

Héctor opened de la Cruz's suitcase, reaching his hand in and grabbing the songbook. He pulled it out, flipping through some pages until it fell on a particular song.

"_Remember Me,_" he read to himself, his eyes going over the song notes. "Sing tenderly and softly… like a lullaby."

_Elena's lullaby._

He shut the songbook, putting it back inside the suitcase. He closed the suitcase, leaving it alone as he went over to Ernesto's corpse.

"I'm sorry, mi amigo," he whispered, then reached into his friend's pocket and grabbed a small ticket.

Once he had the ticket, guitar case and suitcase, he set off to the train station. On the train, he tried to ignore the guilt that ate away at him. He did whatever it took to seize his moment, and took what was necessary.

(Years later, when he is famous, an interviewer asks him what advice he has for young aspiring musicians. In response, he flashes a toothy grin and turns to face the camera, giving a simple answer that first comes into his mind, "Do whatever it takes to seize your moment."

_Whatever it takes, _he silently stresses, but never says aloud as he thinks of that one night from many, many years ago.)


End file.
